


Something Growing

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Ron Weasley, Bedroom, F/M, Married Couple, Married Life, New motherhood, Oneshot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pregnancy, Pregnant, Pregnant Hermione Granger, Starting A Family, pregnancy nerves, rff 2020, romione, romione fic fest 2020, romione oneshot, waiting for ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: Hermione’s pregnant— and she’s freaking out. She’s always been good at everything, but she’s not sure that’ll hold for being a mother; however, when Ron gets home earlier than expected, she realizes she doesn’t need to be great at everything so long as she’s got him beside her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	Something Growing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Romione Ficlet Fest 2020 on Tumblr, for the prompt "Ron leaves for a mission." :)
> 
> You can find the original here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/621669796635967488/something-growing

Hermione seldom spent a night alone. Ever since Shell Cottage —where Ron had stayed devotedly by her bedside, stroking her hair and holding her close, and in between sleepy murmurs she'd told him "I never want to sleep alone again" and he'd replied "you won't"—, there had only been a handful of nights where the other side of the bed was empty.

Tonight was one such night.

And boy, was she happy about it.

Ron had left for a mission the day before, and though Hermione ordinarily hated seeing him go, she was desperately in need of a bit of solitude, because she needed to think— and Hermione thought best when she was alone.

She didn't think he'd noticed, so busy was he with the preparations for the mission, but the last few days had been odd. She'd been waking up feeling nauseous and had even had to rush to the bathroom a couple mornings just to kneel before the toilet bowl and retch into it; she'd been peeing a lot more often than she usually did; she'd been uncommonly tired, her lower back throbbing with a constant, unwavering ache— and, most disconcertingly of all, there had been no familiar monthly stain tinging her panties red.

And Hermione's periods, much like her, were _always_ on time.

So, as much as she hated Ron being away, she felt a weight lift off her chest when the door clicked shut behind him, and she was left alone to sift through her thoughts and worries the whole day over. However, something had kept her from confronting them all day: she'd busied herself with menial tasks around the house —vacuuming floors and dusting bookshelves, mopping the kitchen and cleaning out the pantry— to push away the fact that she'd have to wrestle with what was happening to her sooner or later.

But, as soon as she was in bed, the lights off and the covers shrouding her, she knew there was no getting around it anymore.

She was pregnant.

 _Merlin_ , she was pregnant.

She and Ron had always talked about wanting children, had daydreamed about light tufts of red hair and innocent chocolate eyes, so why had this jolted her so harshly? They'd been trying, after all, they'd long given up on contraceptive charms— so why did her heart swirl with dismay? She'd never in her life been bad at anything, so why should she be bad at being a mother?

 _But that's just it_ , she suddenly realized. That's what was worrying her so much, that's what had kept her awake through the last few nights, even as she lay in the embrace of a happily-snoring Ron. Was she going to be any good at this? She'd never been particularly close to her parents —too many dinner parties where they expected her to sit and talk maturely to the guests—, and after she'd started at Hogwarts, she'd started seeing less and less of them, spending entire summers at the Burrow, and the situation had peaked when she'd had to ship them off to Australia to protect them. It wasn't that she didn't love them, not at all— it was more that she didn't exactly know _how_ they'd done it. She'd been a very naturally disciplined child, but what if the one inside of her wasn't? What if it turned out as reckless as Fred or George, or as rebellious as Ginny (there'd be Weasley blood in it, after all)? What would she do then? She couldn't think of anything beyond scolding— and she knew the child would despise her for it, she only had to remember the revolted look on Ron's face every time she'd dared tried to exercise some discipline as a Prefect.

And then there was the matter that she was absolutely terrible at contending with her own emotions. She could read anyone else's as clearly as a book, but when it came to her own, there was a barrier of some sort there. That's why she was so bad with brooms, wasn't it? She couldn't handle having to make an emotional bond with an inanimate object, something no textbook would tell her. And that's why she'd hated Divination so much, wasn't it? That degree of introspection was also something she couldn't learn from anywhere. How was she to be trusted with something so deeply emotional as loving, as caring for a child? What if she never got past it? What if the baby came out and she felt nothing?

 _I'm going to bomb this_ , she thought to herself, her panic growing with her ultimate conclusion. She was going to be terrible at this, and Ron was going to end up resenting her, and everything they'd built together would come crashing down on them— _oh, Merlin, what have we done?_

A sudden noise from the kitchen startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. The door to their flat had opened, and someone was traipsing around the kitchen. Hermione stiffened and groped around her nightstand for her wand, prepared to take on whoever the intruder was; however, she soon recognized the familiar rhythm of the footsteps as Ron's own, and she floated back into the bed, relieved. It didn't last her long: she sat up again almost immediately, her eyes wide. He was here early! He wasn't supposed to be back for another day! And she still hadn't thought of what she would tell him— what they would do—

"Hey there," came Ron's whisper as he pushed the bedroom door open softly and let himself in. "Stayed up for me?"

Hermione gulped and nodded, still too stunned to do much else, only just managing to stammer out: "You're home early."

"Yeah," came Ron's gentle laugh, and Hermione felt the mattress dip as he sat on the bed next to her, the room still dark, and began taking off his shoes. "We thought it was going to be super dangerous, but the git chickened out and practically turned himself in. Piece of Cauldron cake."

"That's nice," squeaked Hermione, her mind still racing in alarm.

"Yeah, and I get to come home to you," said Ron, leaning across the bed to kiss her. She returned the kiss absently, not fully in it because she was unable to get out of her own head. He didn't seem to notice, and returned to getting ready for sleep, stripping off his shirt and peeling off his trousers.

He chattered absentmindedly about the mission as he rustled through his drawers, shimmied into his pyjamas, and brushed his teeth. Only when he flicked off the bathroom light and returned to the dark bedroom did he seem to notice his usually-talkative wife had sat in stony silence all throughout. "'Mione, you okay? Need me to fetch you anything? A cup of tea?"

She could only just make out a faint outline of him in the dark, but her eyes were glued to him. She was suddenly seeing him, as if everything about the man she'd married was becoming revealed: he'd spoken with such tender concern for her, no matter that he'd come back from a mission where he'd risked his life, and he'd taken the time to make sure she was okay. That was so like him —ever since he'd stood up for her to Malfoy when they were both at Hogwarts, when he'd suggested she pass herself off as his cousin and offered to teach him his family tree, every night he'd spent curled around her in Shell Cottage to give her safety—, that was so like her lovely, caring Ron. Because that's what he was: he was caring, and he was loving, and he was smart, and he was funny. He was her rock. And moreover, it suddenly dawned on her, he was going to be the perfect dad.

The tension finally evaporated from her muscles, because she knew it now: it didn't matter how much she'd struggle, because he was going to be right there next to her, to help her through it, to step in where she couldn't and support her when she needed it. It didn't matter if she wasn't perfect, because they didn't need to be perfect parents on their own— they just had to be good at it together. And with Ron by her side, there was nothing to fear.

"I'm alright," she replied after a lapse of silence, a smile finally finding its way back onto her lips after an entire day of anguish. She instinctively placed a hand to her belly —right under the _R_ of Ron's knit Christmas sweater she liked to sleep in when he was away, because it smelled like him—, right over where their baby must be right now, where something was growing, and felt it rise and fall with the last breath she'd take before their lives would change forever. "There's just something I need to tell you."


End file.
